


Foretaste

by Venivincere



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chan, M/M, Rape, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venivincere/pseuds/Venivincere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What <i>really</i> happened when Hagrid took Harry for his school supplies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foretaste

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Envinyatar15 for the 2006 Harry_Holidays fic exchange. Warnings: Chan, rape, violence.
> 
> Posted on January 1, 2007 at Skyehawke here: http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=14189

"Are you here with your parents? Where are they?"  
  
The curious boy with the pale, pointed face stood next to Harry on a stool at Madame Malkin's, getting fitted for school robes. Harry looked over at him, and then at the man on the sofa behind him, who must have been his father; he had the same pointed features as the boy.   
  
Harry turned back to the boy and answered. "No, my parents are dead."  
  
"Oh, sorry," said the pale boy, though he didn't sound at all as though he were.  
  
Harry heard movement behind him, and turned to see the boy's father suddenly sitting straight up and staring. Just then, Madame Malkin turned her attention and her measuring tape on Harry. He raised his arms and tried not to be too embarrassed at the intimately ticklish tape. All the while, he felt as though the man's eyes were boring into the back of his head.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
As tiresome as it was to spend hours in the Diagon Alley shops, Lucius nevertheless relished the opportunity to show his only son the proper way to behave in them. He also wasn't averse to ensuring proper attire for his son. Every detail counted in the exhaustive effort to insinuate the family name back into the good graces of the Ministry after the fiasco of Voldemort's defeat -- it wouldn't do to dismiss the importance of image now, not after the strenuous effort to retrieve and protect the family wealth and project a repentant, philanthropic exterior.  
  
He relaxed on the sofa and watched Draco raise his arms for the measuring tape. Madame Malkin spoke to the tape measure. Draco laughed. The scrawny, black-haired child next to him turned to look at Draco for a moment, and Lucius saw that Draco was aware of this. Draco spoke, but the boy did not immediately answer -- instead, he turned to stare at Lucius like an idiot Mudblood child. Lucius found himself wondering what the boy would answer. There was something about the boy that evoked a memory in him, a recollection of blood and bone and orgiastic excitement, of  _Avada's_  dead, green light.  
  
 _Potter._  
  
He and Voldemort alone had invaded that house in Godric's Hollow -- a picture of familial joy, surprised -- green light from a dark wand -- a death, and then another -- yet another, but not that which was meant. The slip of a boy survived, and stood now unsmiling, next to his own son.  
  
Lucius in that moment became perversely thankful that Draco hadn't touched him. At least, not first. Draco had no claim, not the way Lucius had, and suddenly it was very important that he stake his own claim now, before that doddering old fool Dumbledore got hold of him.  
  
Here was that boy in front of him. The boy who had ruined a lifetime of hard work, made meaningless the crawling, suffering and scheming Lucius had done to become Voldemort's right hand. The boy who had ensured that the countless bloody, butchering hours, the timeless agonies of Cruciatus, the hundreds of slippery, servile arse reamings Lucius had endured in the name of a promise of power were wasted. He was here, he was within Lucius' grasp.  
  
That boy. Lucius shuddered. Any right to touch that boy fell to Lucius alone, as the only one of the faithful to see his master fall. He alone had the right to destroy that boy who had stolen so much promise from Lucius' life, so much potential power and celebrity, so much potential wealth.  
  
A sudden impulse for revenge, but the risk.... Ten years it had taken to rebuild. Ten years of a different sort of political agony, of servility at the hands of the Ministry. Ten years of slow and painful reinstatement into the good graces of respectable society. It was too much to risk for revenge. Wasn't it?  
  
But  _that_  boy,  _that boy right there_ , had not paid. Lucius' fingers clenched in a fist. He had not paid at all.  
  
In the end, the temptation really was too much to resist.  
  
When Madame Malkin slipped into the back room, it was the work of a moment to call Draco to him and tell him to wait in the shop until he returned. He rose from the chair, his breath quick and hot from the rush of adrenalin stirring his blood. Potter's eyes followed him as he approached and cast, " _Petrificus Totalis, Mobilicorpus, Invisibilus._ "  
  
Draco's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing; Lucius knew his son would keep silent. Madame Malkin emerged from the back as he tucked Potter's invisible arm under his own, and before she even looked up, she had been selectively Obliviated. If she thought it strange that Lucius Malfoy asked to be shown the service exit, the thought fled immediately. Before he left, Lucius commanded that Draco's sizeable order be made that afternoon rather than delivered, and, citing an urgent, brief engagement, left Draco to watch over its preparation.  
  
The back door opened into a courtyard with a high wall. Lucius cast locking charms and raised wards on the door, shoved Potter into the wall, pointed his wand at the boy and muttered " _Finite Incantatem._ "  
  
The boy appeared before him and sank down the wall at Lucius' feet, eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings, then landing fearfully on him.  
  
He sheathed his wand in the top of his cane, never taking his eyes from the boy's. His nostrils flared rhythmically with the thrum of adrenalin in his blood. The suppressed desires and memories flooded back to him: the uncontrolled rush of arousal, his prick rising in his trousers at the sight of the blooming fear and confusion of the freshly caught Muggle; the restless, pounding excitement at the casting of Cruciatus on it, the pinnacle of satisfaction as the Muggle broke under the soft calf-skin of his boot, under the pounding release of his prick up its arse.  
  
Lucius felt an excitement he hadn't felt in ten years, and, strangely, it was a relief to feel this hot-blooded anticipation again. This boy cowering before him was about to pay. Finally, he would pay.  
  
Lucius would  _break_  Harry Potter. His eyes sparked with arousal.  
  
The boy began inching away along the wall. This would not do.  
  
"Stop."  
  
The boy halted.  
  
"Do you know who I am?"  
  
"N-No," said Potter. "Are -- are you related to that boy in there?"  
  
Lucius sneered; the boy recoiled against the brick wall of Madame Malkin's shop and bumped his head. Lucius repressed a sudden urge to laugh at this so-called hero of the wizarding world, but he allowed himself a clenched-mouth grin at a vision in his head -- the boy, terrified and cowering against the wall, wetting himself with fear like so many Muggles before him, especially the younger ones -- his over-large jeans shiny with rapidly growing downward streaks, dulling as his bladder finished emptying and the cheap cotton material absorbed the flow. He shook his head clear of the vision. With any luck, it should be happening any time now. A flush crept up Lucius' velvet-collared neck and his prick gave a violent twitch.  
  
"That boy," said Lucius, "is my son, and the Malfoy heir. You would do well to show respect for our name, Potter."  
  
The boy had no reaction. It was plain the Malfoy name meant nothing to him. Lucius' fingers twitched with a sudden urge to throttle the boy and be done with him.  
  
"Perhaps I should tell you who the Malfoys are, Potter," said Lucius. "I should show you who we are." He paused to watch Harry closely. The boy was trembling violently but holding his ground. Lucius was fascinated with the boy's stamina. He had not yet wet himself, and he dared stare back. He fastened his eyes on the boy's crotch, waiting, and though it made the boy tremble still more violently, he stayed dry. But he did move a hand to cover himself.  
  
"Malfoys are respected, Potter. Feared, even." He brought his cane forward, and rested the sharp fangs of the silver snake's head on Harry's neck. "We have power -- not as much as before the Dark Lord's destruction, but almost."  
  
The boy gulped and trembled. He slipped backward along the wall, breath panicked and hitching, as he felt behind him. Lucius laughed; the boy was nowhere near the door. "You think you can escape me?"  
  
"You -- you're mad!" the boy blurted. "You're not right. Who --" In two swift strides, Lucius caught up to him and pushed the head of the cane into the boy's neck hard enough for the fangs to touch his skin. "AHH!"  
  
Lucius slapped his free hand over the boy's mouth and cast a careful glance behind him at the windows overlooking the courtyard. All remained dark. Nothing stirred. He sighed with relief.  
  
A rush of confidence overtook him and he turned his attention back to the boy. "You will listen in silence, is that clear?"  
  
The boy nodded as well as he could with Lucius' hand clamped over his mouth.  
  
"It's been ten years, boy. Ten long years to build my life back up again." With each repetition of the word 'ten,' Lucius pressed on the head of the cane. "And do you know why we had to build it up again?" Press. "Do you know why I'm not very happy with you?" Press. "Do you know why I brought you out here where no one can see you? Where no one knows where you are?" Press, press. Lucius noticed two pinpricks of blood blooming around the fangs. The boy looked scared and confused, and seemed to be in pain; his face was blotchy. The two blood droplets dripped in unison from the fangs, trailing down the boy's neck and soaking into his collar. "Do you know why I brought you here where no one will hear your screams?"  
  
He pulled the cane away from the boy's neck, but when the boy struggled to get away again, back it went. The fangs stopped him instantly.  
  
The boy began to make noise, little sobs, muffled behind Lucius' hand. Clearly, he was more frightened now -- but not enough.  
  
"Today, Harry Potter, you will pay."  
  
"Please --" said the boy, his lips tickling the palm of Lucius' hand. He removed it, and the boy took a deep breath. "I've got money, if that's what you want."  
  
Lucius laughed, though he was irritated the boy could actually answer him. "No," he said, eyes narrowing, "Galleons mean nothing. You will pay with a currency valuable to  _me_. Shall we start with your pride?"  
  
The boy gulped.  
  
"Do you know what it is to come, boy? To orgasm? Do you know that particular humiliation yet?" The boy briefly shook his head. "Have you woken wet and sticky in the morning? Do you rub yourself through your pants?" Another shake no, but surely he must be lying; Draco was already a frequent, indiscriminate and messy masturbator, to hear the house-elves complain about it. The boy must know what it is by now, but Lucius did not see any change in his expression.  
  
Well. Lucius was going to change that right now.   
  
"Hands above your head." The boy did not move fast enough.  
  
"I said, hands above your head!" Lucius shoved his mouth in the boy's ear and said, "You will do as you are told, Potter, or  _you will pay double_. Now  _put them up!_ "  
  
He complied, and Lucius was pleased to note the trembling fingers, the knees squeezing together to stop them from shaking.  
  
"Spread your legs."  
  
The boy shook his head, a violent little no. Lucius extended the head of his cane, and hooked the snake's fangs high up on the inside of Potter's left thigh. He slowly pushed outward. No blood yet. "Do it."  
  
Potter whimpered and shook his head again, no. Lucius felt the boy trembling; the movement translating up the shaft of the cane directly into Lucius' hand, and from there, through his bones to his prick. He wasn't too startled to discover himself rock hard, and sticking to his fine silk pants.  
  
"You  _will_  spread your legs."  
  
Yet another shake from that tousled head had Lucius' blood heating, and with the anger simmering he pushed harder on the head of the cane and twisted. The boy issued a panicked little shriek and Lucius looked down to find little blossoms of red appearing in the faded blue of the Muggle trousers, but his eyes were quickly drawn up to a larger flush of red along Potter's neck. Lucius was fascinated by it. What an odd response to pain the boy had, and look! There, the eyes were lowering, the head turning away, and the blush crept up to the boy's ears. Lucius heard a pattering sound below and looked down, and oh! The boy's reaction was finally clear -- it wasn't just pain, it was embarrassment -- the child was finally wetting himself! Lucius was inordinately pleased to have wrenched this small victory from his intractable captive, and once again became very aware of his raging hard prick throbbing rhythmically and rubbing against the soft, silk underpants.  
  
Control. He must maintain control.  
  
He cast about for a distraction and noticed the soggy state of his cane. His cane! Enraged, he yanked it viciously through the wet cloth and skin of Potter's thigh. The boy's body quaked, causing a burst of urine to splash on the ground between his legs, and on the mouth of the silver serpent as Lucius drew it out from between his legs. Little drops of pink-shot gold, like venom, dripped from the fangs. Potter's blood. Potter's venom. Lucius cast an infuriated " _Scourgify!_ " on the cane. He shoved it under the boy's eyes, then slowly let it drift down until one needle-sharp fang rested on the boy's lower lip. He was rewarded with yet another frightened splash as the boy looked from the cane to Lucius.  
  
"Bad form, young man. Bad  _form_ ," and on the last word he yanked the cane down. A red line blossomed bright down the center of the boy's lip.  
  
He shrieked, but still did not obey. The boy squeezed his legs together to stem the last of the flow, his face screwing up, which was exactly what Lucius didn't want. Immediately, he drew his wand from the cane and a muttered " _Pes Sumite_ " spread the child's wet legs wide for him, throwing him off balance and dumping him at a rakish angle against the wall behind him. Lucius was pleased to note that the boy was shocked at his unwilled obedience. Oh, the child was embarrassed again, too. Lucius watched another delicious flush rise in the child's cheeks, watched one, red drop of blood fall from lip to chin. His eyes drifted downward to the dull wet V of the boy's crotch, which was thrust upward by his position on the wall and sporting a tiny wet mound in the middle. Lucius' prick jumped again in his pants, and he began to worry the slick, anticipatory dampness inside might be seeping through to his trousers. Perhaps if he took care of that now, he'd last a bit longer later.  
  
He uttered a charm to freeze the boy in place against the wall, sheathed his wand, set the cane carefully aside, and quickly unfastened the buttons of his trousers and pants. He kept his eyes on the boy's as he drew out his long, hard prick. The eyes widened with shock, and there, he could see the jaw muscles working, the boy was swallowing, and Lucius' hand stroked quickly up and down the hard length of his prick as the boy gasped and his eyes widened, and Lucius was stroking much faster now, eyes locked with his and imagining that round little mouth on his prick, that blood-split lip slicking the underside dent, that little-boy tongue probing his piss-slit, and what else was that, there in the boy's eyes? Was it excitement? Lust?  
  
The thrust of that small, imagined tongue moistening ruined, bitten lips pushed Lucius over the edge, and the surging moved up his legs, through his stomach and out his long, throbbing prick. Hips pushing all the way out and knees shaking, the first jagged slash of white landed across the boy's hair and glasses and cheek and shocked his mouth open just in time for his tongue and lips to be painted with the second spurt. The boy sputtered and spit, and tears ran down his cheeks. The next spurt kissed his chin, and the rest shot out in pearly dots dappling the boy's shirt and damp crotch -- which was noticeably larger and firmer than before. A flicker at the corner of his eye made him look up; the boy's tongue darted out of his mouth and licked the come from his lips. He winced; it must have been bitter. The very thought made one last surge of lust course through Lucius' prick and dribble directly on top of the boy's restrained cock. Perfect.  
  
He allowed his eyes to close for the duration of the aftershocks.  
  
Lucius reached down with one hand and let it hover momentarily over the hard young cock beneath the damp pants, then slid his fingers through the pearls of come on the boy's cheek and drew them lightly over the bridge of his nose. The child stopped breathing. Lucius leant forward and captured the face in the fingertips of both hands, and very gently rubbed expanding circles through the streaks and droplets with his thumbs until it was spread in a clear, tightening masque over the boy's face. The boy's eyes remained wide, fixed on Lucius'. Lucius smoothed a thumb over the boy's sticky cheek and ran it lightly over the rent in his bottom lip. The lips separated slightly, and Lucius' thumb was suddenly drawn in on a gasping, ragged breath. He pushed in and felt the mouth open further, the tongue frantically trying to move away from his thumb but succeeding only in licking every surface of it clean. Lucius slid the other thumb in, and kneaded the boy's tongue with both, in turn. The boy gagged then sucked noisily, trying to stop the drooling, but it didn't help -- it only fed Lucius' desire to give him something else to suck on.  
  
Thumbs cleaned, Lucius drew them out of the boy's wet mouth and wiped them through messy, black hair. He undid the freezing charm, and moved his still-damp prick closer to the boy's face. Potter's eyes never left his own.  
  
"Lick it clean." He watched as the eyes flicked down, then flew back up, terrible with comprehension.  
  
"Suck it. I will tell you when you are finished, but until then you will clean me." The boy whimpered, and slid down the wall until he was lying on the damp stones of the courtyard, head against the wall at a sharp angle.  
  
Lucius' vision greyed and his teeth clenched hard as he reigned in his anger. "You will do as you are told, or I will  _break you_." He swiped the cane from its resting place on the wall, drew his wand and cast, " _Crucio!_ "  
  
The body below him convulsed and arched, and emitted a low, building moan that was quickly burgeoning into a scream. It was this last that finally cleared Lucius' mind of his all-consuming rage enough to remove the Cruciatus. A scream would be heard, and he couldn't risk that. But he was livid that the boy had made him lose self-control. He was unsurprised to find his cock hardening yet again, an effect of casting the Cruciatus; he could punish the boy more with it.  
  
"On your knees, boy." Lucius didn't wait for him to obey, but grasped him by the shoulder and roughly pulled him up. The boy trembled, but stayed upright. And oh! He was finally crying. No little whimpery sobs, but quiet, full-on crying, tears coursing down his cheeks and splashing on his faded shirtfront. Lucius buried his fingers in the boy's hair and yanked his head forward until he was bathing the tip of his prick in the boy's tears, rubbing through the wet tracks first on one side, then the other. But he was still sticky; the boy had still to complete his task. Through clenched teeth Lucius said, "I will tell you one last time. You will obey, or I will punish you until every muscle in your body tears from the bone. Now open your mouth instantly and _clean me with your tongue_."  
  
The boy looked up at him, anger behind the tears in his eyes. He turned toward the prick as it slid on his cheek, his mouth slowly chasing it. Lucius gave a little smile of triumph as he breached the warmth of the boy's lips. He yanked the hair in his fist, firmly seating his long prick in that small, hot mouth, watching the tears stream now for a different reason, each convulsion of the boy's choking throat sending ecstatic thrills along the length of him. He held himself poised and watched the boy's eyes brighten with panic. They rested on Lucius, at once hateful and imploring, and it was too much for Lucius to bear -- he pulled out, felt the boy take a deep shuddering breath, then immediately pushed in again, choking him. He set up a slow, waltz-like rhythm: one hot, wet thrust, followed by quivering, panicked choking, followed by a wash of cool air whistling around the tip. A thrust, a choke, a wash; thrust, choke, wash,  _thrust_ , and the rhythm changed as Lucius lost himself in release, spurting thick, heavy strands in a quick double heartbeat down the boy's throat.  
  
When every last aftershock had been satisfied, he shoved the head away from him and watched in a haze as the choking, tear-streaked boy fell on all fours at his feet.  
  
Lucius smiled.  
  
The scrap of boy in front of him shuddered; Lucius watched as the boy carefully raised his head to look at Lucius, stared as the boy then leant forward slowly, purposefully, and vomited on his left boot.  
  
Before he quite knew what he was doing, he lashed out and connected the filthy boot with the boy's chest. The boy flipped backward with the force of it, slammed against the brick wall and slid down to lay face up at the foot of it. Soiled and tear-stained, spattered with vomit, Potter smiled.  
  
 _That fucking little Mudblood brat will pay! I WILL break him!_  His thoughts fled behind red lust rage. Revenge seduced him. He kicked the boy again, this time in the arm.  
  
The little shit wasn't smiling anymore. The boy lay there, ground into the rocks and dust at the foot of the wall. His left arm winged out at an angle that surely meant it was broken. The hand drooped backward off the wrist, and the blood-laced knuckles dipped into the gravel underneath them, right in front of Lucius' foot. The only sound was the boy, gasping shallowly and whining.  
  
Time to bring the boy's focus back where it belonged.  
  
Lucius stomped on the hand in front of him and ground it like an insect into the dirt. The boy's eyes popped open wide in shock and the whining turned to short, choked little mewlings. Lucius looked down at the ashen face, then at his foot where he saw the boy's fingers curl weakly, useless, around the edge of his defiled boot. They were covered with fresh new blood.  
  
"That's what you get for your defiance, you filthy, Mudblood piece of trash." He bounced on the hand. "Pay attention to me!"  
  
The boy lay there, eyes glassy and staring, which made Lucius think that perhaps the injury might be getting in the way. He stepped off the boy's hand and muttered " _Mederio, Obducio_ ," as he pointed his cane at Potter's arm and hand. The boy shuddered, and Lucius didn't have long to wait before the color returned to Potter's face and the glassy stare resolved into fear and pain once more.  
  
Lucius had the boy's attention, now. But the struggle to get it had driven his intentions out of his mind, and he found himself continuing to stare down at the boy, unmoving. What was it about this child? He was nothing. Why did he fight? How did he have it in him? Perhaps there was something about the child, some hidden, inner strength that could buoy him up under any attack. Lucius frowned. He  _had_  survived the killing curse. Lucius had seen the spell hit the boy's forehead, seen it bounce back, seen, even as he dove to the side, the green light blast his master's chest.  
  
Could the boy have something in him? Is this why he wouldn't break?  
  
Should Lucius be afraid?  
  
Something must have shown in his eyes, because the boy underneath him stirred and began to sit up, never taking his eyes off Lucius. Lucius quickly put a boot on his neck and shoved him back down.  
  
"No, Potter, I think not." The boy trembled. Lucius took it as a good sign.  
  
"Strip, boy."  
  
He lay there, but made no move to take anything off. Well. If the boy were that far gone, he would need some help. He could use a single spell, but he preferred the fear that a slow undressing would induce. He moved in close and several murmured spells pulled each sleeve off the boy's arms, the shirt over his head. Then he levitated the child, turned him toward the wall, and tacked his wrists above his head with a hasty spell. A muttered " _Scindio!_ " and the belt fell in two; the too-large trousers fell off the boy without any touch from Lucius at all. The child wore no pants.  
  
Lucius lifted each knee in turn, spread the leg wide from the hip, and attached it to the wall with a spell. If the boy had been horizontal, he would have been the perfect picture of a willing fuck, hands above his head, legs spread and arse in the air, ready for his lover.  
  
As it was, he was nailed prick-high to the wall, ready for breaching, for breaking. Lucius wasted no time.  
  
"Potter, this is where you scream." He reached around the boy's hip, and grabbed the lolling cock. The cheeks grew dully red, but the boy made no sound. Lucius fondled more closely. Still nothing. Another approach might be needed. "You like this, you little Mudblood slut, don't you. You  _do_  know what it means to come." His hand squeezed and massaged the boy's cock, pinky finger tracing over the little balls that seemed to crawl out of its way. "You're going to come for me, now, and I'm going to take your worthless seed in my fingers and stroke it on my cock, and fuck you with it, rip your arse wide with it, and you'll know in your bones that  _I own you_.  
  
Little puffs of air escaped the boy's lips, but still no sound, no little whimpers, no crying, no weak, humiliated "no!"s. Lucius smacked the little-boy arse in front of him. Ah! A yelp. And a flaming red handprint on the left cheek. The shock of it drove the boy's face into the wall where it grated against the rough brick, and also drove the boy's cock hard into his fist. Lucius couldn't tell whether it was pain or pleasure that made the boy hiss, but he didn't care. He focused on the pleasure, the horrified, unwelcome, unstoppable pleasure, and Potter was snorting now, soft, damp whuffles into the coarse brick, his eyes drifting shut. The boy's hips danced and thrust, trying to get away from Lucius' hand, but Lucius knew just how to counter that.  
  
Every move to the side, every attempt at escape and Lucius took his free hand and grabbed the boy's arse-cheek, digging his thumb into the pucker, and steered the boy back. No matter how the boy moved, Lucius roughly shoved him back to center, stroking steadily, occasionally squeezing the entire length of him in his fist so he couldn't move at all.  
  
Potter was keening softly now; the corner of his mouth mashed the brick. His eyes were shut and a worry line argued with the scar on his forehead. The boy was losing control -- he wasn't fighting any more.  
  
Was he breaking? Finally?  
  
His hips thrust steadily into Lucius' fist, once, twice, and suddenly his hips froze at the pinnacle of the thrust, his eyes snapped open, and his body quivered in place, mouth shocked and open. Lucius moved his hand hastily over the tip to catch his release. His prick throbbed furious and red through the open buttons of his trousers, waiting to be slicked with the boy's juices, waiting to rip the tiny pucker open and bathe in blood.  
  
But nothing came out.  
  
The boy came dry.  
  
The underdeveloped little Mudblood  _fuck!_  
  
He wrenched the boy's arse apart with both hands, and spit unerringly on the little pucker. This never failed to break them, any of them. Lucius took vicious fistfuls of the boy's hips in his hands, and brutally slammed his prick in to the hilt.  
  
Potter screamed, and Lucius didn't even think to go for his wand. He rammed his fist into the side of the boy's mouth. The little shit gurgled, but he wasn't screaming any more. In fact, Lucius was pleased to note he was bleeding from both ends. Blood dribbled out his arse and his mouth in steady little streams. Lucius wriggled his prick in the slick channel that was really too tight, and his eyes followed a trail from the boy's mouth downward -- watched while it splattered squarely on the center of his one clean boot.  
  
 _Rage._  
  
 _Slam_. He thrust in again. "Break, you little  _fuck_. You thieving little  _Mudblood fuck_. I'll kill you." Thrust. "You  _will_  pay!" Slam, slam, slam. He moved his hands up around the boy's torso, dug in his nails, and ripped down hard across Potter's nipples, down his stomach, over the sensitive skin of the boy's cock. He was too far gone in rage to notice that the boy didn't respond, his vision too clouded in red to see that the boy had passed out on the wall and was hanging unaware from his abraded wrists and knees. Lucius took the boy's hips -- ah -- thrust and thrust -- "Break!" -- slam -- "Break, you little fuck," and thrust, oh nearly -- and come --"Fuck…break --" The boy's arse took it, slicker than ever.  
  
With the last of his release the red around Lucius' vision turned to grey, and then to black.  
  
He woke to the familiar taste of blood in his mouth, of warm, pattering rain on his cheek. Were it not for the rain, he would have thought himself back in the Charnel Room of his Lord, but the rain hit only on one cheek, not the other, and the oddity of it was enough to drive the last of the sleepiness away. Maybe it  _was_  the Charnel Room; Lucius opened his eyes to discover the rain was blood, dripping in a steady pat, pat, pat from the arse of the boy pinned to the wall above him. Suddenly, the reality of his actions of the last hour slammed into him and he leapt out from under the boy, searching wild-eyed and panicked for his cane.  
  
Fuck! What had he done?  
  
 _Ten years! Ten years of slimy, snake-belly SLITHERING to get it all back! Fuck! Fuck! What had he done!_  
  
He found his cane against the wall not two steps away, yanked out his wand, and transformed the patch of wall in front of him into a mirror.  
  
He was covered in blood. His silver-blond hair had gone pink with it, the skin of his face, the fair ivory silk of his shirt, the fine, woolen robe saturated with it. The mud from the courtyard speckled his trousers. Blood and vomit caked his boots. Lucius spat, and spat again, spat until the pink-tinged spittle came out clear, but still the copper tang of blood did not leave his mouth.  
  
"Scourgify. Scourgify. " He pointed the wand all over himself. " _Scourgify._ "  
  
He removed the boy from the wall and suspended him in the air before him. " _Scourgify_." The dirt and vomit disappeared from the boy's shirt, but still, there was blood. " _Scourgify!_  
  
Why wasn't the blood coming out? " _SCOURGIFY!_ "  
  
Oh, fuck. "SCOURGIFY! SCOURGIFY!" He lowered his voice; panicking wouldn't help.  
  
" _Scourgify!_ "  
  
Slowly, the blood began to fade.  
  
The boy was still unconscious. It made it that much easier to Obliviate him, and to heal him, too. Not a mark. He couldn't afford to leave a mark on him. He must never suspect. " _Mederio._ " The jaw. The teeth. " _Obducio_." The lips and face. And down. And down. The ribs. " _Sanario. Sanario. Sanario._ " Piss-damp pants. " _Scourgify._ " Sew up the clothes. " _Reparo._ " The boy still smelt. " _Scourgify. Deodorus._ "  
  
Blood on the ground. " _Exsanguina._ " Piss. " _Aridio, Deodorus._ "  
  
He continued long after any clue remained, hoping against the odds that no one had heard him, or heard the boy. He peered at each window looking into the courtyard, fear piercing him, until he determined that still, no one was in them.  
  
" _Obliviate. Mobilicorpus. Invisibilus._ "  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Harry roused from his woolgathering about the boy next to him feeling rather glazed, as though he had been asleep. He was surprised to find the object of his thoughts already gone and himself in the chair the boy's father had occupied. He must be getting tired -- maybe he  _had_  dozed off. As if on cue, he yawned hugely. He was beginning to wonder how much longer he would have to wait when Madame Malkin emerged from the back with an arm full of robes, looking vaguely confused until she spotted Harry slumped in the chair. "Oh, heavens! Of course, Mr. Potter! Now, these would be yours." She bustled up murmuring a spell, and Harry watched as wrapping parchment and string flew out of the end of her wand, making a neat little parcel of Harry's new school things.  
  
Harry exited Madame Malkin's still in a bit of a daze, startled to notice the angle of the sun and the air of tired patience on Hagrid's face ("Busy in there, Harry?") with the feeling that a greater amount of time had passed than could be accounted for in the fitting of school robes. His gut was twisting and he felt as though he needed to use the toilet. But before he could mention his need the sensation passed, and Hagrid handed him a totally unexpected treat -- ice cream, though half melted in the cup -- and they turned and walked up Diagon Alley toward the stationer's.  
  
Harry was quiet, and strangely much less comfortable than he had been earlier. He felt wary of the people who saw his scar and recognized him, waving as he passed. Maybe, even though he was loved as a hero, he would end up just as lonely as he had been. Just because Dudley and his gang weren't around to chase people off didn't mean the kids he met would be friendly to him. No matter who they were, anyway, people who were friendly had always wanted  _something_  of him, even if it was just to serve as a punching bag.  
  
What would these people want?  
  
He thought of the pale, pointed boy in Madame Malkin's and frowned. Probably it was best if they didn't become friends. Hagrid had said that Hogwarts was a large castle. With any luck, he could ignore the rude, sneering boy.  
  
He thought he should feel sorry about that, but strangely, he felt nothing but relief.  
  
~fin~


End file.
